


Oneirism

by BonesAndScales



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: M/M, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-05
Updated: 2019-02-05
Packaged: 2019-10-23 01:48:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17674109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BonesAndScales/pseuds/BonesAndScales
Summary: His eyes were closed, peaceful in the dim light of the chapel—devoid of sound and devoid of life but for their own, and the memories they chained to their temple, haunting the corridors of their minds. Will’s voice was no louder than a whisper.“I thought you didn’t pray.”





	Oneirism

**Author's Note:**

> My contribution for the After The Fall zine.
> 
> Enjoy!

 

Will opened his eyes to the light of the afternoon sun streaming in through the high windows of the Norman chapel. He turned his head towards Hannibal. His eyes were closed, peaceful in the dim light of the chapel—devoid of sound and devoid of life but for their own, and the memories they chained to their temple, haunting the corridors of their minds. Will’s voice was no louder than a whisper.

“I thought you didn’t pray.”

“And I still don't.”

“What is this then?”

“Building new rooms.”

“Extending your palace?” Will tilted his head, considering. “It's strange that you would let me in a place so intimate.”

“Our palace,” Hannibal corrected softly. “I never let you in mine, you came in on your own.” He opened his eyes, reached out for Will’s hand as he continued, “It's what you do best, breaking down walls, crossing the frontiers of foreign minds.”

Will laced their fingers together, closed his eyes. “I had plenty of practice on corpses.”

“Who is the corpse amongst us?”

Will opened his eyes to the cold sun of the Florentine fall. They walked hand in hand across the empty courtyard of their Uffizi gallery. The ghosts of footsteps echoed around them, and amongst those, the distinct sound of hooves hitting the pavement, much louder, much realer than anything that walked their grounds.

“Neither of us,” Will said. “Death did not want us.”

“The roiling Atlantic could not digest us.”

“She is a cruel mistress. She might have decided that we deserved to suffer some more.”

“Are you suffering?”

Will tightened his grip on Hannibal’s hand, closed his eyes. “I feel... in stasis, suspended over a precipice.”

“You stand in the liminal space between our death and our rebirth. What would make you cross the threshold?”

Will opened his eyes to the night sky embracing the black sea and the little cliffhouse where fate laid down her last card against them. High above them, the moon was the only witness to their downfall—to their first embrace—before they offered themselves to the gaping maw of the Atlantic.

“I may be waiting for god to smite us for our sins, once and for all.”

“Gods only ever smite those who worship them. Beautiful irony.”

“They’re as cruel as the sea, exert their divine justice as they please.”

“There is no justice, divine or otherwise. Only revenge.”

Will huffed out a laugh, observed Hannibal’s reflection on the window as it approached his own. He came to stand beside him, taking in the view. Their shoulders brushed in a hiss of clothes. “So far revenge hasn't done much to stop us.”

“Of all those who brandished it against us, none ever lived to tell the tale.”

“Except you. I still bear your marks.”

“And I still bear yours. You are no martyr, Will. You took up the arms and sought revenge for yourself.”

Their eyes met in the reflection. “Do you resent me?”

“Do you?”

Will’s only answer was a smile. It was enough for Hannibal.

“Each soul holds its own god,” Hannibal said as his hand found Will’s again, “Close to the heart. Close to the deepest, unspeakable desires. They whisper and pray in the hope of one day receiving an answer and being granted a miracle.”

Will leaned into him, closed his eyes. “But you don’t pray.”

“I don’t need to. My god gives and takes as he pleases, as cruel and beautiful as the sea.”

Will opened his eyes. Bright blues met sienna reds. Hannibal laid still beside him, the two of them facing each other, nestled in the warmth of the blankets as the wind howled and the snowstorm raged on outside their window. Hannibal placed his hand on Will’s jaw, his thumb lovingly tracing the faint scar on his cheek—a faded memory of the Dragon’s claws. Will smiled.

“So does mine.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
